Wishes and Lies
by lighthouse11
Summary: Post-Netflix Defenders.While recovering at the abbey, Matt receives an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome visitor. One shot.


A/N: This story is set after Netflix Defenders, and before Avengers 3. One-shot.

I am also uploading this on AO3.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, etc. These belong to Marvel.

Please read, reply, favourite and enjoy! Your patronage is very much appreciated.

* * *

Usually, the whole place was quiet. The nuns were quiet, the surrounds were quiet, even any noise coming from the kitchens or elsewhere in the abbey grounds were hardly disruptive. It was peaceful. Matt needed that. The quiet. The stillness. To rest. To heal. Usually.

Today, a new-sounding small car arrived. The nuns had been in a tither. He could hear women laughing and chattering, smell freshly-baked goods, hear doors being opened and closed. He wanted to go back to sleep. He told himself he wanted everything to be peaceful and quiet, yet he desperately wanted to know who the visitors were. They never got visitors here. Who visits nuns?

It was easiest just to pretend he didn't know. That the visitors was a mystery, that unless she came in here, he couldn't be sure. But the wind had carried the scent of her perfume through the window when she had arrived. Of course, she wasn't the only woman in the world to wear that perfume, but the evidence mounted up in her favour. He'd heard her laugh. Yes, she was using an Eastern-European accent, but she didn't bother to hide her laugh.

Matt knew the who, and he was lying to himself if he tried to deny it. Or say he didn't miss her. He missed everyone. So he knew the who, but not the why, and certainly not the how. Matt dozed off, half-dreaming of nights long ago, full of that perfume, and that laugh…

"I find the hand of God most at work in such spaces, yes?"

"Oh yes, Sister. We will leave you in peace."

"Thank-you, Sister. I shall much enjoy to sit and pray with him a while."

"He may not wake. Just a warning."

"Even if he cannot hear my prayers, God shall."

Matt kept his eyes closed. He heard the door shut, and the Sister walk down the hallway, and down the stairs. A chair scraped against the floor, and was placed beside his bed. Matt kept his eyes closed. He felt a weight land upon his bed.

"Damn, Matty. You look like shit."

Matt opened his eyes. "Get your feet off the bed." His voice was thick with sleep, but it was nothing she hadn't heard before.

"My shoes are clean."

"Not the point."

"Make me."

Matt groaned. "Natasha…"

"At least your Spidey-senses didn't break."

"My what?" Matt asked. "Actually, never mind. What the hell, Nat?"

"Really?" Natasha said, and Matt realised he'd hit a sore point, "'What the hell, Nat?' How about what the hell, Matt? You're the one who faked his own death by having a building collapse on top of him! You know how your other friends are taking it? Not great. Not great Matt."

"Natasha…"

"I didn't believe it. Not you. Not like that. Thank God I was right. You weren't hard to track down. You're not nearly as good at hiding as you think."

"Natasha…"

"All I needed then were to steal a convenient identity. Sister Anna Maria is happily back in Belarus, having no idea that she is also currently on sabbatical in the US of A. I wrote to the lovely Sisters here the other week, said I'd be coming and would love to drop by, they of course said yes. I checked that no one would notice if I spoke in my normal Russian accent, rather than with any of the accents used in the Belarusian dialect. I had time to get the accent right if need be, but no one here is from further away than Louisiana, so - "

"Natasha. Stop." Matt said. He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes. "No one can know."

"Secret's safe with me, Matty. All of 'em."

"Natasha…"

"I'm serious Matt."

"Why are you here?" Matt asked, his tone making the question sound a lot more like he was saying "Go away" than he had meant.

"Sabbatical."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly."

"You know that's why I hate you," Matt said.

"You can't tell when I'm lying," Natasha finished the sentence for him.

"I can't tell when you're lying."

"I'm not lying," Natasha said and crossed her legs, feet still up on the bed, "It's been - I've been busy. Real busy. I need a break. A rest. Just a few days, pretending to be a nun, praying and - "

"You grew up in a communist state. You're not religious."

"Sitting in churches makes for a nice change from being chased by people with guns."

"Ah, shit," Matt muttered and forced himself into a more upright sitting position. "How much trouble are you in?"

"None, I'm all right."

"Ok, that is a lie."

Natasha smiled. "Kinda hard to hide that one."

"You smell funny."

"Maybe your Spidey-senses are broken after all."

"Stop saying that. I don't know what it means. It's the same perfume, but…"

"Oh. I bleached my hair."

"Peroxide…" Matt mumbled.

Natasha lifted her feet off the bed and cross her legs. "You sure you're all right? I can hook you up with better meds if need be."

Matt shrugged as best he could. "I'll be all right."

"Wow, massive lie."

Matt smirked. So they both were liars. They'd always made a good pair, only the constant lies were a problem. "Seriously though, why are you here?"

It was Natasha's turn to shrug. "Guess I just needed a friend. Someone who gets it, but who isn't too deeply ingrained in all this mess…"

"I'd say I'm fairly deeply ingrained…"

"Oh, you have been," Natasha winked.

Matt was annoyed that he blushed. Natasha noticed and laughed.

"Seriously, though," Matt said.

"Seriously," Natasha said. "Aren't many people in the world who aren't on some sort of Government Watch List or Wanted List who know what I do and what I can do and who somewhat understand why that I can talk to."

"I don't agree with what you do," Matt replied.

"I've stopped killing."

"Yeah, not something you should ever have to say…"

"I'm a spy, Matt. That's all."

"So where have you been, then? I haven't seen you for years, and I haven't heard from you for nearly as long."

"And I am sorry about that. But loss of communication works two ways. You've got a number for me. I keep that phone, just in case. And it looks to me like you probably should have called. I could have helped. I mean - look at you, Matt. You must feel like shit. Pretty sure your street-fighter friends would have loved to have known you had the Black Widow on speed-dial."

"You were busy."

"I'm never that busy, Matt. Not for something like that. I would have come."

"Elektra was involved."

"I'm not worried that in your life you have slept with other women, Matt," Natasha said, "We're grown-ups. You needed help, and you didn't call. If you really had died…damn Murdock, I would have killed you."

"Where have you been?" Matt asked again, wanting now to change the subject. Natasha wasn't lying now, or trying to hide that she was genuinely concerned for him, and that made him nervous.

"It's - "

"Classified?" Matt asked.

"Dangerous. Right now, I can't get you involved with the - messy parts. Damn everything sounds like a euphemism," she muttered, "Look, I'm trying to save someone. Someone who doesn't really believe he's worth saving, but he damn well is. He's shot me twice, but we're on the same side now. He's been used too. There's been a lot of loose ends, paperwork to destroy. Other evidence to destroy. Most of the people involved in the - situation - are either dead, dying, dementia patients, or have been subtly persuaded to forget, or report anything that might endanger my friend to me."

"Persuaded…?"

"Money. I said I'm not a killer anymore. But if they betray me, or him, well, 'no killing' is more of an aim than a strict rule."

"It's a law, Natasha. A fairly common international law."

"I was raised differently to you. I'm trying to give up guns, though. No guns with me now. It's both easier and harder than I thought. Oddly liberating. Much easier to travel through Europe. Much less paperwork. This is my first time back in the States for eighteen months. Guess this is what junkies who have gotten clean feel like when they go back to their old neighbourhood. But - I'm gunna make this right."

Matt nodded. Natasha sounded sincere, and he wanted to believe her. "I know I should have called," he said. "I should have called when the Hand showed up last year. Saying that everything happened too quickly - it's a poor excuse at best, but it's the best I've got."

"Who knows?"

"What?"

"About your powers or whatever they are. About the man inside the suit, and I don't mean the boring lawyer suit."

Matt sighed. "Foggy. Karen. Danny, Luke and Jess. Stick and Elektra, but they're dead. Oh, and Claire. She's with Luke now. That's all. Others might be suspicious, like Danny's girlfriend. And Jess's TV friend, or whoever she was. Oh, and you, of course."

Natasha sighed. "For a life-and-death-type secret, you know that's about ten people too many, right?"

"Yeah. Oh, and possibly the Kingpin."

"Who?"

"Wilson Fisk. Big bad. The Kingpin of New York. He's currently in prison, but umm… I think he knows. We've fought. I've fought him both as Matt Murdock, Attorney at Law, and, well, Daredevil. I think he knows."

"So, why bother with the mask?" Natasha muttered.

"I'm sorry, ok, but… wait. Sit up straight. The sisters are coming."

"Matt, I…"

The door opened an inch.

"Is he awake, Sister Anna?"

"He is, ja." Natasha replied, accent returned. "We have been discussing God's many miracles."

"Oh, very good," said the sister at the door. "Well, tea's ready, if you'd like to come downstairs."

"I'll be just a minute," Natasha replied.

The sister left, but let the door ajar.

Natasha lowered her voice, "Call me. Ok? Things get too big, you call."

"That goes both ways," Matt said.

Natasha leant forward and took his hand. "I'm serious. You call, I'll come. Any time of day. Don't let me get the news again that you're dead. Or all cut up or beaten up or broken or anything. Call me."

"I've got friends now, Natasha. With powers. Together…"

"Together, you still 'died', Matt. Please. Call me."

"You know I can't promise," he said, not wanting to let go of her hand. Natasha seemed to sense this, and slowly pulled her hand away.

"I'll see you later," she said, standing up.

"What's his name?" Matt asked. He wasn't sure if it was the pain killers or Natasha's presence, but he felt as though he was forgetting to ask all the important questions.

"Hmm?"

"This guy you're fighting to save?"

Natasha paused for a moment. "James."

"His stance on guns?"

Natasha chuckled. "It's bad enough with big brother Clint, I don't need big brother Matthew too."

"Be careful."

"You too."

Matt listened as Natasha crossed the room.

"One day I want to meet all of your weird friends, too."

"My weird friends?" Matt said. "One of your closest friends is a World War Two vet who spent seventy years in ice!"

"One of yours is a mythical Chinese-white-guy ninja-billionaire," Natasha laughed. "Weirdest-friend-off another time. I gotta go eat baked goods with nuns."

"Don't be a stranger Natasha."

"You too, Matt."

The perfume-peroxide mix lingered for the rest of the day. Matt wondered what it would take for either of them to reach out to the other again. But he was glad she'd come. That she'd looked for him, and found him. He should have asked her to explain how. He should have asked a lot of things. Like why had she bleached her hair? He hated the medication messing with his head. He wished she could have stayed longer. That was the problem with him and Natasha, so many wishes, and too many lies. But she'd come. That had to count for something.


End file.
